In the City of Ghosts
by theunsilenced
Summary: They say that the only thing worse than rebellion is the thing that causes rebellion. Thorn Yardley, District Twelve's first victor, is about to discover just how terrible rebellion can be.
1. Chapter 1

His whip came down on the prisoner's legs with a tremendous crack. His head snapped back and he screamed so loudly that Thorn's neck hair seemed to stand straight up. She wasn't supposed to be there, this wasn't a public whipping so the offense wasn't serious. He had probably dared to steal a loaf of bread from a Merchant family. Things weren't serious unless they involved the Peacekeepers, lapdogs of the Capitol. It was also a way for the same lapdogs to unwind after a hard day's work. No matter what he did, he was clearly from the Seam, one of her neighbors. The whip struck the prisoner again. Red welts formed a maze on his back and his fists were clenched and trying to loosen the thick, rough ropes bound around his wrists.

Thorn turned away, hazel eyes squeezed shut. Her cheek pressed against the worn brick wall she was leaning against. Oh God, she thought, fully aware of the sling in her hand. What's going to happen to him? Should I help?

Stories flew through the Seam about men who were punished so harshly that they lost consciousness and the Peacekeepers, satisfied, tossed them to the side of the road and left them to die. Like dogs.

Thorn let the sling fall to the concrete.

It's not like they're true. She pressed her lips together. Just rumors spread by the Capitol to cow the Districts. And I don't want to end up on the whipping post. Her arm twisted around her head and she brushed the smooth, unmarked skin. I don't want to end up like that.

CRACK! And another scream. Thorn bent down to pick up the sling that lay innocently on the concrete. She closed her eyes, relishing the rush of power it sent through her. You're not helpless, it seemed to say. You have something. I have to use it.

She picked up a rock and took one step forward. Ice seemed to form in her muscles, freezing them in place. Thorn breathed out and swung her weapon. The weight of the rock was comforting in her hand and she felt like a rebel, a hero as she gathered more rocks to hold in her other hand.

She stepped into the sunlight. Any doubt was banished into the dark corners of her mind. Now was hardly the time to think.

Thorn gulped. But she brought the sling over her shoulder and by her head, relishing the sound it made. The Peacekeepers weren't wearing their suits, something reserved for the Reaping. This man is lazy; he doesn't wear his helmet. She tried to smile as she let the stone fly but found she couldn't. The moment seems to speed up. Blood began to flow as the Peacekeeper was struck in the temple. Bile rose in her throat as he collapsed to the sand. She may have just killed a man. Not a man, she corrected herself, remembering her sister's words. An enemy.

The prisoner turned around and she saw him for an instant. He nodded and she rose her chin. Her doubt was gone for a fleeting second. She felt invincible. But the moment ended too soon.

Thorn froze as the soldier turned to face her, grabbing his gun from his belt. He raised the muzzle and one gloved finger pulled the trigger.

She ran, letting the sling fall from her hands. She heard the roar of a bullet as it missed her, but she thought of what could have happened. Fear bloomed in her lungs. I'm scared. Makeitstop, she thought. Pleasepleaseplease. Another bullet streaked past her head, missing it completely.

Iron hands grabbed her arms and Thorn felt her head snap back painfully. She bit down on her tongue as something slammed into her lower back and she fell to the floor. Coal dust fluttered up and she winced as her knees pressed into the asphalt. I am going to die.

She can hear the smile in the mans voice. "You know what's going to happen to you. What happens to the worst of the worst in this godforsaken place."

Thorn's breath caught in her throat and she blinked back tears, feeling the hot pressure build up behind her eyes.

"You will not be executed." He says with grim pleasure. "I know your family."

"What's going to happen to me?" Thorn rasped.

No reply was given.

He let his hand fall onto her back and Thorn fought to stay still. Cedar had been beaten, tortured like this before. She had seen the thick, knotted scars that marred her skin. Like her mother, she had been pretty. Once. Now, she was rugged, hard. Strong.

"What's going to happen to me?" She asked again. Thorn's voice came out, high, squeaky. She could imagine the smirk on the Peacekeeper's face and anger and shame smoldered inside her.

The hand rested on her back, she could feel the fabric through her thin, threadbare shirt. "Oh, you'll see. I was sent from the Capitol. I take this job very seriously. Run along, Thorn."

She didn't bother to ask the man how she knew his name. She rose to her feet and stiffly nodded her head as she saw his rough features and the grey eyes. He looked like a brute, a thug trained to instill fear, but she knew. If you looked close enough, you could almost sense the cogs turning in his brain as he figured out how to serve his nation best.

And on one summer day, she smelled blood as the man beat her sister and smiled.

Later that night, her infamous sister holds her close as she explains some facts of life to Thorn. Such as how the Reaping really works.


	2. Chapter 2

I deserve to die. As I stand between two merchant girls, I can't help but be reminded of the fact. The sun beats down on me harshly and sweat trickles down my face and I look like a pig. It's not like I should care at any rate, but you can't help but be reminded of it when the two people you're packed beside are avoiding your gaze. It's not like it matters. I have a week to live, but I've had a month to come to terms with the fact. You'll hear about it in time. I'm sure of it. 

My mind wanders when I'm nervous. It's a defense mechanism I've had since I was little. I remember this one time when a certain Peacekeeper showed up at my house, demanding to see my sister, I rambled on and on about the most trivial things.

Of course, it didn't do anything. They still beat her. I remember standing there as they struck her. I remember that day well. I remember the way my heart raced and pounded against my ribs. I remember the way my face turned red and I remember the way I bit my tongue so hard that blood filled my mouth as they whipped my sister until she bled and finally stopped screaming for help when none was coming. 

I remember how I stood there, every muscle in her body rigid as tears streamed down my face. When they finally stopped, the tormentor knelt next to my sister and untied her. I can describe every detail of how she slid off the post and onto the stones. For some reason, I stared at the crossbeams she had been tied to. It was worn smooth from the scratches of their prisoners. As they screamed and cried and thrashed they clawed the post like the animals they were treated as. But if you toss a dog into the street, it's still going to grow fangs.

My mother, who had stood there in the crowd, unfeeling, silently picked her up and carried her through the winding streets. I wasn't there for any of it. I ran and fled and cried and collapsed on a sidewalk and I just laid there with my cheeks to the sooty ground. When I returned, the Peacekeeper was standing there, smoking. He puffed some of it into my face and told me to give her a long, long talk about the seeds her actions would sow. Fate is really fucking cruel sometimes, isn't it? Why would such a lowly officer like him be so focused on my family of all things? Maybe rebellion runs in the blood. He was right. 

But my sister eventually got over it. She focused on the things that mattered. Like burning the world to the ground.

She's feral, wild girl who's a loose cannon, a storm that rages and is the witch in your life, the story time wolf. She's an accident, you know. The odd one out. My mother, shuddering, told me the story of how she was conceived in the woods we live right by, the product of two parts rebellion and one part desperation. Cedar seems to taken it all in stride, though. She walks through the empty, run down halls of the school, head high even though she has no reason to be there.

She's plenty smart, though. Don't get me wrong. With a sly smirk, she breezes through the joke of an education we're given, just to prove she can.

When she's given a diploma, she plans to burn. Pointless, utterly pointless, she says. Really, what's the point of an education if nobody goes anywhere?

Well, I couldn't imagine doing anything like that. Or anything, really. I'm the quiet one, the ghost, even though I wasn't the accident. The killing was an accident, I swear. I don't know what I was thinking but they covered it up. They said he was moved to District Eleven but no one knows the difference. Blood is spilled everyday...

Fate really is funny, isn't it? I wanted to break out of the Seam. I study, I really do, but Cedar got all the brains and I'm what's left. I try to pass, but most of the time I don't. I would give up if I didn't have to work to keep my mother and father alive while Cedar runs and steals. She drops the bags of sugar and poison on our table with a smirk disguised as a grimace. We all know she really loves what she does. 

Does this make her feel herioc? Stealing and howling to nothing. Yes, we know what they do is wrong but aimless rebellion is just howling in the dark. Nothing's ever going to change unless we all rise up together.

We won't.

Now I'm standing here, staring death in the face. I realize that if life really flashes in front of your eyes before you die, mine will be pretty sad because truthfully, I've mangled my whole life. I've spent it picking my way through the remains Cedar left in her wake. She destroys everything she touches so I try not to touch anything at all. And, once, when I tried to embrace rebellion, strike back, I end up like this. A dead girl walking.

You must think I hate my sister, but I don't. Some fierce loyalty binds us and I don't know what it is. But it's something born in the stories my parents told us about the times before the rebellion, how we live in the aftermath of a utopia. Cedar took up the sword, and despite my misgivings, I decided that she was the only one doing so, so

I decided to follow her.

In return, she told me pretty visions of the future, which I decided to accept. You can't live without dreams. 

I'm wearing a pretty white lace dress now and I wish tributes were sent back in something like this instead of the outfits in the arena. My mother made me wear it, it was something she had as a child. She held it out and I changed in the cracked mirror that hangs above our dining table. Cedar smiled and told me I looked pretty in her sarcastic way. But I still thought it was nice she cared enough to tell me something for once.

I'm really pathetic, aren't I?

I'm just standing there as they arm the guillotines. I fiddle with my worn leather strip of a bracelet. I should run into the woods, I should flee or fight or so something because, goddamn it I'm going to die. But Cedar's silent, raising her chin. Maybe she's crying. Maybe she feels something that isn't anger at the life she's forced to live, that we're all forced to live. 

My sister, the infamous rebel, the bravest, most idiotic person you will ever know is standing there as her sister will slowly march to her death. Bitterness rises in my throat, but I know she won't. She thinks she's precious, a wolf surrounded by sheep. Maybe she is. She's a sheep in a wolf's skin and that's better than nothing, I guess.

I look at Cedar who's standing in the seventeen year old's section with a hard expression on her face. She can mold herself into anything she wants. She can cry on command, weave lies that anyone can believe and flatter, trick and talk anyone into doing anything. It's saddening and heartening to realize that I'm probably the only one she drops the act for. 

'God, Thorn. I'm so scared of what's going to happen to you.' 

Aelia, our escort drifts onstage and waves at us. She's dressed like an angel, with a train held up by Avoxes and feathery wings. Her whole body is painted white and her silver eyes seem to glow. Sarius Thestle, our mayor shows the film and reads the Treaty of Treason with a sickly grin plastered to his face. I turn them out. It's a skill I've, no everyone in District Twelve has developed.

"Welcome to the Twentieth Annual Hunger Games," she trills. Her gold hair frames her perfect, heart shaped face and her rose lips form the next words in the annoying Capitolite accent that grates on my ears whenever I hear it. It reminds me of hissing snakes. 

"Ladies first, of course!" Aelia forces a smile at us. We all know she doesn't want to be here. No one does. She digs around in the Reaping Ball and I know what she's going to say before she says it. Or maybe, maybe I'm completely wrong. It _could _happen. 

"Thorn Yardley."

No such luck.

Long, racking sobs. I turn and pierce Cedar with the dark grey gaze that runs in the family. Her cries twist my stomach but something keeps my feet moving forward and I meet Aelia's eyes and I like the way she shifts uncomfortably. My lips are set in a grim line as I walk. Aelia, although uncomfortable doesn't break the battle of wills and I seem to have discovered an element of myself I haven't before. 

Maybe I'll think about this later.

I don't feel regret. I don't feel anger. I don't feel sadness. Yes, these emotions are buried somewhere inside me. I'll probably spend tonight crying. I sacrificed my life for someone I didn't know. I flew off the handle that day and played in the debris Cedar left behind. But I felt alive. Fearless.

All too soon, I reach the stage and I smile out to all the people. They stare back. I wonder what the cameras make of me. I'm not the weakened little tribute with sunken eyes and jutting ribs. Cedar took care of that. I'm better off than a lot of Seam kids, but I'm not strong or fast or smart. But, I'm the master of the Earth in my own way now, like every tribute who manages to piece together the only good thing about being in my place. They just lost hold of us for good. Nothing that they can throw at us will harm us. No hope, just fire. Just rebellion. 

Then, I think of my family. Mother, the one who once had kind eyes and smooth skin that was gone once she joined the rebellion. She has a scar that snakes across her cheek, where my father likes to kiss as a silent reminder to all of us. 

Father, gruff, aloof. He slips in and out of the house every day and comes back with more coal dust coating his mining outfit each time and with less pride. He loves us fiercely, at least I hope so. He's the uniting force in this family, the once Cedar adores. He loves her the most. 

Mother loves me. She taught me the berries and plants and we spent silent, stolen moments together. We watch the sunset over the coal-black buildings and she tells me tales of the Land Before the Rebellion.

It hits me that they're all I have left and soon they will be lost to memory. I blink to alleviate the hot pressure behind my eyes and I smile at the crowd again, my facade cracking. I could lose them, but would it be worth it to go out in a blaze of glory?. The question gnaws at my mind. My parents, they both fought in the rebellion. If I did something... attacked the Peacekeepers, broke out of the Games, fled... would they approve? It's not my decision to make and I can hardly ask them. Because the answer's no. I can't do that to them. 

I try to pick out Cedar's face in the crowd. I can't and panic rises in my throat. I want to cry. The dynamite rebel won't use her voice or weapons or fire to defend her own blood. 

"Our male tribute!" Aelia drifts over to the male reaping ball and removes a tiny slip of paper.

"Saffron Weston," she reads. 

Silence. Then a howl. Then, the Peacekeeper who beat my sister and countless others grabs his son in a fierce, protective embrace, tears streaming down his face. They cry together and all hell breaks loose.

People jeer and even laugh as armed soldiers separate Saffron from his father, who howls and screams and thrashes and cries in a desperate attempt to get to his son.

Saffron, however, goes limp in an instant as a gun is placed to the back of his neck, but it doesn't stop the long, deep sobs that rack his body. I'm stoic, hoping the cameras are zoomed in on my face.

"Someone, help!" He wails through his sobs. "Please, will someone take my place?" No one steps forward because this is an interesting development. The tributes are usually Seam girls and boys who haven't had enough to eat all their lives. They risk certain death for terrasse, but Saffron has no need for that. He's a strong, wiry boy with a perfect mop of dirty blonde hair and green eyes and perfect skin. He had a nice, cushy job waiting for him, but now he's no better than me. Dead. 

I'm sure the District is pleased.

"Saffron, Thorn, shake hands!" Aelia smiles as Saffron trudges up the stairs to the stage. His face is coated in blood and tears and dirt, but his grip is surprisingly firm. His blue eyes, normally cold and hard, reminiscent of his personality are filled with tears and he looks like one more blow, physical or emotional, will kill him.

"Let the Games begin!"


	3. Chapter 3

My breath fogs the dirty glass of the Justice Building, and I mindlessly begin to trace patterns in it, like I did when I was a child. Snowflakes and flowers. I stare out into the district. Although it's almost sunset now, people swarm the street, singing about how their children are spared for one more year. I pull my knees up to the windowsill and press them to my chest. Tears don't come.

I should cry, I really should. 

"Thorn!" Cedar grabs me in a crushing embrace, pulling me off the windowsill. We fall to the carpet together and my shirt grows wet from her tears. She's buried her head in my chest, sobbing. How did I think that she was the stronger one. I want my sling now, I want it. 

"I'm so sorry, Thorn. I'm just so emotional right now." Seeing my older sister like this should stir something inside me. Some sadness, some fear. But the truth is, I've had a week to come to terms with the fact that I am going to die and the truth is that I'm bitter. Cedar didn't volunteer. The one who vows to strike the Capitol didn't volunteer and protest the Games. The ultimate rebellion. 

Loyalties can only go so far on Reaping Day. 

"Don't be a pawn, Thorn." Cedar stands up and hauls me to her feet. "And remember, the only thing worse than rebellion is the thing that causes rebellion." It's hollow words but I can't help but be captivated by her words like so many other people. 

She cups my chin and raises my head to meet her sparking eyes. 

"Who said that?" I choke out. 

"Some guy before the Rebellion. Dad always said it to me," Cedar says brazenly. "But that doesn't matter now." 

"Any brilliant tips for survival?" I reply wryly. " I could use them." 

"How are you so calm?" Her hands shake. "You're about to die." 

"Thanks, Cedar." 

"Oh no," She stumbles over her words, realizing what she just said. "Thorn... I didn't mean that." 

"No, it's fine." 

"But try and get a sling or something." She begins to pace and I back away, giving her space. "And hide. Every arena has to have a hiding place. Also, try and hunt. Don't run to the Cornucopia. Get the stuff at the sides." 

"Okay," I sigh. "But the Careers." 

"Don't be a pawn in the Games. Don't give up, Thorn." 

She kisses me on the cheek for the first time I can remember, but it's broken too soon as a Peacekeeper barges into the room. 

"Times up, lovers." 

"She's my sister, bastard." Cedar spits. The guard cuffs her around the head and she growls. 

"Bye, Thorn." She turns to face me, smiling. 

"Bye, Cedar." 

Thanks for the emotional talk, sis. Something forces its way to the front of my throat and I wail. Help me someone, help me. Tears slip down my face and i can't stem the flow, so I clasp my hands to my face like I can push them back somehow. 

My mother enters a minute later. Her worn face is streaked with tears and her black hair is a mess. The Peacekeeper smiles at me and I meet his eyes and raise my chin. I don't give into him until my mother speaks and I want to cry. 

"Thorn..." My mother averts her eyes and she sits down. "I don't know what to say." 

"That's okay." I lean on a worn desk and trace patterns in the grain. I wipe a tear away and take a deep breath. What do you say to a doomed daughter? 

"Thorn, come back to us. Come home." 

I rest my hand on hers and she looks at my bracelet. 

"I've brought tokens for the last few years, just in case." My mother composes herself, draws herself up. "But they seem so empty now." 

I had suspected that she, like the other mothers, did this. She packed a piece of fabric, a dried flower, a pretty stone in an old game bag. But I look at the strap of leather around my wrist and I nod.

"I don't need a token. Just this." I hold up my wrist and my mother smiles. She gave it to Cedar, who palmed it off to me a few days ago with a sad smile. She tied it on my wrist herself. 

"Do you know the story behind it?" I shake my head and my mother smiles and leans closer. 

"It was your grandmother's. She wore a matching one to my fathers. It was all they could afford for the wedding. But they made it work." It sounds like a fairytale, the way she tells it. "But then, your grandfather died in the mines. She died of sadness, right after I was old enough to move out." 

I move to take the bracelet off. My mother, she's never been open about her past. She deserves this more than me, she's not going to ever get it back. I place it in her hand and she doesn't move. 

"Thank you," she whispers, fastening it around her wrist. "It's all I have left of her, please understand. I had no idea Cedar gave it to you." 

Then she does something I wouldn't expect. She takes the bracelet and tears it half. The worn leather snaps easily. Too easily. 

"Wear this." She smiles wearily at me.

"You'll need it." 

I do. 

The silence stretches between us. We never talked much, but we have this indescribable bond. My mother's crying and I'm weeping silently_. I'm so sorry I'm so sorry I have to go now._ I look out at the night. I feel like Death himself has swept his cloak over the District and ice slithers down my spine. 

"Times up!" A younger Peacekeeper smiles as my mother embraces me one me and whispers a goodbye, drained and hollow. 

"Bye." 

"I love you!" My mother yells and tears burn my eyes. I don't know what to think, what to feel.

"Your father." The same Peacekeeper sneers at my sorry, sniveling form and I look at him blearily. 

"Okay," I rasp. My father steps into the room and embrace me. I cling to his neck, just like when I was a little girl who didn't even know what death was. 

"Daddy." I murmur. I'm a weak little kitten as my father embraces me in his arms. I'm sobbing and weeping and sniffling. All our walls crash to the ground. Pity it took this to break them. 

"I love you," he whispers, over and over. My great, heaving sobs become little mews. I just wanted to cry. I can weep in my father's arms over my death and everything that's going to happen. Enemies I don't know exist right now. But they're there, volunteering and sent off by parents who told them to do this. 

"I'm... gonna... die," I wrap my arms around his for support and he kisses me on the lips. His stubble presses against my skin. 

"I'm so sorry, Thorny." He used the nickname he gave me when I was four because I thought Thorn was too 'boyish' of a time.

"I'm not." I lay my head on the curve of his chest, inhaling his scent of smoke and mint tea. I don't want to let it go, it's unique. In the thousands that live in the Seam, most look exactly like him, with rainy eyes and dark complexions but his smoky, minty scent belongs to him and him alone. 

"I'm going to die as well. I don't want to lose either of you." He's crying now and holds me closer until I can hear his heart, the blood roaring through him. 

"Never forget me." I look in his shining grey eyes with seriousness. My heart thrums in my chest because this needs to be said. I forgot to ask Mama and Cedar and someone needs to know this fear in my chest. Something to tie the two of us together even after I've crossed over because really, what's a twiggy, weak fourteen year old going to do against a Career? 

"I could never forget you, Thorn." My father runs his hands through my hair and I smile, despite the darkness outside the window. "You're my daughter." 

"No." I'm stumbling through this speech. "As a person. As who I really was... my flaws and all. I just want someone to know me for who I was, even when I pass away because I don't want to be forgotten like the other tributes. Please, Papa remember me as a person. Please." 

One day, my name will be on a long list of the people who've died in the most dangerous game a person could ever play. I don't want to be something someone in the Capitolite will see and smile because the rebel has been put in her place. This is the end, isn't it? This is the end and I want to live on because I'm only human and we don't want to be forgotten. 

"Thorny, we've been through so much." He holds me close, and I want to sink into the embrace and freeze time, but the moments over too soon. "I'll remember you. But you are going to make it." He grabs my wrists and kisses me on the cheek. 

Maybe I'll fight. 

"You will, Thorn." 

"I will, Papa." 

"Alright, times up." My father nods stiffly to the Peacekeeper and slowly backs out of the room. He doesn't look back. 

That's it. There are no other visitors. I don't have friends. Neither does Cedar, now that I think about it. Raven and Archer are just lackeys. They would follow her to the end of the earth if she asked. But she wouldn't do that for them. I press my elbows into my stomach as I lean forward. My lungs burn and my muscles ache with emotion. This was supposed to have closure. This was supposed to sever me from my family. I should have been able to find out what my father really is like, why Cedar is the way she is, and learn what my mother really thinks of me, learn about her past. Learn my standing in this circus of a family. 

Life isn't a story where all the loose ends are tied up in bows. I'm leaving forever with lots of baggage and unanswered questions.

_Let me return home. Miracles are real, right?_


	4. Chapter 4

"Smile for the cameras." Aelia jabs a bony elbow into my ribcage. How is she so skinny?

"That hurts." I snarl under my breath and the harsh glance my escort sends me is the only indication she overheard. A smirk curls the edges of Saffron's lips.

"Why are you dressed as an angel, Aelia?" Saffron's face is benign, like he's actually curious.

"Mythology, Saffron. Angels, demons, monsters. All very stylish." Aelia grins, showing off her unnaturally sharp teeth. I have no idea why she decided to have her teeth altered like... that. It destroys her whole innocent, girly getup. I think it had something to do with the wolf pack that killed the remaining tributes, leaving the District Four girl standing. She was a small thing who only survived by swimming out to the sea when she spotted the beasts. District Four is hardly a Career District anymore, thanks to the lack of fish in the rivers. Every year, the people seem to get thinner and poorer.

"Well, you look very nice, Aelia. How I would imagine a Capitolite." I stifle a laugh. Saffron speaks so properly and it sounds scripted. Fake.

"Thank you, Saffron. Although, considering you and your father's behavior at today's Reaping, you show your behavior as a District Twelve citizen blatantly." Aelia smiles as splotches of red appear on Saffron's pale cheeks. "Uncivilized."

"I apologize, Aelia." Saffron goes rigid. I laugh and both of them whirl to face me.

"I'm sorry." All the emotions whirling around inside me are begging for release and it's all so ludicrous, how Saffron and Aelia argue with each other in 'proper' speech when everything seems to pale in comparison to the Games waiting for us.

Cedar's words echo in my mind, hollow in their comfort. Be more than a pawn. Don't play the game. I want to laugh again, if she was here to hear me. Cedar, you got me into this, I think. Emotions gather in my stomach. Shame burns my cheeks. Do I really think of my sister like that? She was the one that provided for us, even though, really, it was her fault.

"Smile," Aelia chirps as she rushes forward, bunching the white fabric of her dress up.

Saffron bites his lip, clearly nervous, but I run my hand through my hair and force a smile at them. It looks like a pained grimace, but no one pays too much attention to our district anyways.

Aelia, on the other hand, waves to us. Saffron hurries forward, but I nod to the cameras, keeping my head held high. I hope the red in my cheeks doesn't show because adrenaline is surging through me and I want to do anything but pander to the Capitol, although that's what I'm doing unconsciously. Even Saffron is doing better than me.

I don't know, I've always had the strongest self preservation instinct. I can refuse to feel emotions, and I barely have a sense of justice. I'd say it's good thing, growing up in Panem but sometimes I don't like it. It's cowardice, according to Cedar. She tosses the term around a lot when she hears of people keeping their heads down when people are whipped or turning them in to the Peacekeepers to keep the relative tranquility here in District Twelve.

I stumble up the silver steps to the train and wave at the cameramen one last time. I wonder how I looked. I should have done more to set myself apart at the Reaping. At least I didn't break down like a lot of people. This poor girl, last year from District Ten, she was reaped and cried through the parade and interviews and everything. She killed herself by jumping off the plate and all the other tributes looked at each other in disgust. Coward. I can't imagine doing that, and maybe that's what sets me apart from the others.

I look around and I'm torn between gaping at the room I'm standing in or smashing something in anger. The table is loaded with delicacies I can't even recognize and priceless vases are filled with exotic, aromatic flowers. The furniture is ornate and made from mahogany but the rug is soft and made of some animal that, today, only exists in the capital. A huge TV takes up the wall and its surrounded by leather couches.

Saffron is disgusted, too. How? I think to myself. Is there such a paradise in Panem? In such a war torn world? Tears burn my eyes and I fight the urge to pin Aelia to the wall and demand how this can exist. It would all be so better if we're not constantly tainted with Utopias right on the edges of our minds. The Land Before the Rebellion. The Land Before the Apocalypse. Why do we mess up so much?

Why do I mess up so much?

She, however, is oblivious to our anger and sits on the chair. She smiles at us and takes a chocolate flower from a glass bowl. An Avox must have set them out earlier today. Saffron hesitantly reaches for a piece of candy. He bites off a petal and smiles at me.

"Why aren't you trying one, Thorn?"

I interlace my fingers and grin sweetly at him in reply. "I'd rather not."

Shrugging, Saffron takes another one and something snaps. I grab a handful of candy from the bowl and stuff them in my mouth. The flavors explode in my mouth and I moan. So much better than plants and berries and bark. Yes, Cedar once brought home some sugar cookies, but this is something else.

I don't realize that I've closed my eyes until they fly open to identical looks of horror on Aelia and Saffron's faces. I wipe my mouth with the sleeve of my shirt.

"What did I do?"

"Don't eat like that, Thorn," Saffron says. He looks at me awkwardly and folds his hands in his lap. Aelia gives him an approving look and Saffron can't hide the small smile on his face.

"It won't endear you to sponsors, Thorn. You will be watched." She studies me carefully as I grit my teeth together. The bowl of chocolate flowers sits between us and I force a smile.

"Okay, Aelia," I say, trying to keep the annoyance in my voice minimal. "I'll only take one more." I grab it and pop it in my mouth, rolling it around and savoring it's sweetness.

"Well, that's that." Aelia smiles at me. "I'm sure I can teach you manners in a few days."

My grin freezes in place and I snap back, "I'll be in the Games soon enough. Does it matter?"

"Yes!" Her voice turns high and strangled. "It will win you sponsors. It turns the story of a tribute from one of an uncivilized beast thrown into the Games to one of a person being tossed to the beasts to die! Which will get you more sponsors? Tell me, Thorn!"

"Okay!" I reply, seeing Aelia becoming visibly upset. She calms down and summons an Avox.

"Let's just eat normally, okay?"

"Well, the foods coming, so dig in."

Workers clad in all white set plates filled to the brim in front of me and the smell beckons me. It's a succulent steak drowned in gravy and it's so good and I've never seen anything like it. Before I know what I'm doing, I tear into it, ripping hunks of meat from the steak and it feels warm and full in my mouth, unlike the plants I'm so used to. With each bite, I ground myself to the earth. I love the warm sensation the meal leaves in my belly. I'm alive.

All to soon, the meal disappears down my throat and I wipe my fingers on the tablecloth, leaving stains of grease and gravy on the the linen.

"You uncivilized...!" Aelia sighs as she crosses her arms and glowers at me.

Saffron holds up his empty plate. From the lack of stains on his shirt. I'd assume he knows how to use a knife and fork. My parents taught me, but I didn't listen.

An Avox sets a plate of orange soup in front of me. It was tiny swirls of white and pink and a few red petals float on top. I eye it hungrily, oblivious to the stabbing pains in my stomach and the nauseous feeling that sweeps through me.

"Pumpkin soups with a rose petal garnish," Aelia surveys us haughtily . "I'm sure you haven't had it before."

Ignoring her, I grab the bowl and slurp it down. It's sweet and full as it slides down my throat. I don't really know what's in it, I've never heard of pumpkins before.

As I lower the rim of the now empty bowl, I see Aelia stirring her near-full bowl of the soup. She sighs.

"How is it that you eat like a wolf, yet you're stick thin?" She props her head on her hands and a tears fall from her golden eyes. "I can barely fit in my dress and it's killing me. People will think I'm ugly. I need to get promoted to District Six."

I snarl and clutch the cold china bowl and even Saffron's expression darkens.

"The reason," I hiss. "We starve each and every day."

"She's right," Saffron mutters to himself. Aelia can't hear him, but it makes me feel a little better. I smile.

I wish I could say so much more. I wish I could tell her about the babies with stomachs swollen from malnutrition. I wish I could tell her about the children who fall in the streets. I wish I could her about the people who throw up blood. I wish I could tell her about the people who stagger too and from their jobs. I wish I could tell her about the endless people who labor to keep her peoples' paradise intact without anything to feed themselves but sheer will to live.

Panem et circenses!

I stay silent, quivering in anger. It shouldn't matter, I'm going to be dead in days. It's like, I guess it's like the trees whose roots are tied to grow a certain way. Even after the bonds are removed, the branches still grow in the way the bonds force it to. It follows because it's never known another way, the chains are in place from the day it's born.

Sorry Cedar. In the end, the rebels are no different than us. We're all secretly angry at the world we live in. But we're all scared, in the end. I murdered that man, spent days crying in my room. Get into my coffin and sealed it.

"Well," Aelia trills, clearing her throat. "We should talk."

"What do you mean?" Saffron cuts his steak into small pieces, trying not to meet the escort's eyes.

She twists a thin golden chain hanging around her neck. My eyes fixate on it. "I'll be both your escort and mentor. Seeing as..."

Seeing as every tribute our district produces is sent home as a corpse.

We both remain stonily silent as an Avox sets a platter of something in front of us.

"It's roast duck, Thorn." Saffron takes a wing and nibbles on it.

I grab the wing of the bird and tear it apart until every speck of meat is removed and only bones are left. I will never grow tired of this feast. Never.


End file.
